Chopped Pork Shoulder Meat with Ham Meat Added
Posted by lorddimwit 10 years ago
So you've come to LF to whore your site out to the masses. Congratulations and welcome! But oh woe! You can't actually post the link until you gain experience! Easy solution: throw out a few comments on links, reach the requisite level, profit! However, this is somewhat more difficult when you lack even a basic command of English or, indeed, logic.  
(more will be added as they inevitably appear)  
In response to a story about 2 lbs of frozen ham costing a million and some change:  
I'd like to know if it was thousands of 2 POUND SLICED HAM FROZEN or just one? If it was just one, you've got yourself a story about a $30000 toilet seat.  
In response to a story about monkeys being able to perceive bad grammar:  
this is nice topic, monkey is like a human. monkey first come in world man last, he is our like a lord.  
Our beloved spammer returns for an encore in a thread about Obama's budget:  
obama's first black person makes america prime minister abama is belong south country, but abama is great person  
In response to a story about oral sex and pregnancy:  
preg (subject line)  
her body  
In response to a story about looming budget deficits:  
Historically, it is business that creates wealth, not the federal government. During the Reagan Adminisration, government spending reduction resulted in long term prosperity. Why the Obama Administration and Congress can not learn from history is what many people do not understand. The Obama Administration wants to change the United States into a socialist country. This is not what the writers of our Constitution had in mind. Eventually the American people will need to pay for the enormous deficit that Obama has substantially contributed to. The United States can not be run the same way Chicago politics works. The only resolution is to impeach Obama.  
Start watching Glenn Beck on Fox News and you will really know what is going on in this country.  
In response to a story about North Korean prison camps:  
good thing you are alive...  
In response to a site listing common abbreviations / acronyms:  
i get it too  
In response to a site about the sex lives of women:  
Women fell great when they are having, some feel guilt after, who knows why, I don`t blame movies, magazine pics or any of that, probably from something in their childhood.  
In response to a site offering life advice:  
the world will may not survive humans  
In response to a link with pictures of a squirrel eating a pumpkin:  
feeels like pinching off
Posted by lorddimwit 10 years ago
After much hardship, I've finally hopped on board the Xbox Live bandwagon. Should you be so inclined, look up Lord Dimwit000 and we'll kill zombies together.  
That is all.
Posted by lorddimwit 10 years ago
Apparently, bacon is no longer fashionable.  
Well, we had a good run.
Hat Day?
Posted by lorddimwit 11 years ago
Population < 1 million = skewed graphs!
Posted by lorddimwit 11 years ago
Go Alaska!!!
Posted by lorddimwit 11 years ago
fluffy, a.  
({sm}fl{revv}f{shti}) [f. FLUFF n.1 + -Y1.]  
1. a. Consisting of or resembling fluff; of soft, downy texture.  
1825 JAMIESON, Fluffy, applied to any powdery substance that can be easily put in motion or blown away; as to ashes, hair-powder, meal &c. 1860 THACKERAY Lovel ii, A great hulking Bluecoat boy, with fluffy whiskers. 1863 M. E. BRADDON Eleanor's Vict. I. v. 106 The fluffy worsted curtains were drawn. 1887 R. N. CAREY Uncle Max xiii. 103 [She] buried her face in a very fluffy little muff.  
b. Of timber: (see quot.).  
1888 Lockwood's Dict. Mech. Engin., Timber is said to be fluffy when the sawdust is stringy, and moist and greasy instead of granular and sharp.  
c. fig., often with reference to personal character or intellect.  
1898 Westm. Gaz. 16 Apr. 1/3 Celia is strong-minded. You would not think so to look at her: she is what I call a fluffy girl. 1904 E. F. BENSON Challoners xiv, Begin instantly without playing any fluffy arpeggios. 1927 A. P. HERBERT Plain Jane 10, I like them fluffy,..With downy soft eyebrows and artful blue eyes,..With fluffy complexions, like plums on a wall, And fluffy opinions, and no brains at all. 1964 Punch 23 Dec. 967/3 His fluffy wife prepared to help him by seducing the boss.  
2. Of persons: Covered with fluff. Of plants and animals: Covered with down, soft hairs, feathers, or fur; downy.  
1848 DICKENS Dombey lix, Fluffy and snuffy strangers. 1856 F. E. PAGET Owlet Owlst., 110, That dreary-looking man, with a fluffy effect about his head, as though it were sprinkled with the contents of a pillow. 1862 H. MARRYAT Year in Sweden I. 75 The road-side bright with the fluffy blue anemone. 1863 F. A. KEMBLE Resid. in Georgia 259 These poor little fluffy things [rabbits]. 1879 HESBA STRETTON Needle's Eye I. 145 The fluffy yellow chickens.  
3. slang. a. Drunk and incapable (see quot. 1886 s.v. FLUFFINESS). b. Theatr. Liable to forget one's ‘lines’.  
1885 Referee 26 July 3/2 One or two others were..what actors call fluffy in their lines. 1893 Pall Mall G. 17 Jan. 7/2 After the chorus is perfect, the principals are ‘fluffy’, especially when the principals are fashionable amateurs.  
4. quasi-n. A fluffy animal.  
1889 Daily News 23 Oct. 7/1 Strictly smooth haired creatures are at a disadvantage among the fluffies.  
5. Comb.: fluffy-brained, -minded adjs.  
1905 Author 1 Feb. 150 Has he thrown you over for her, the *fluffy-brained thing? 1902 Westm. Gaz. 23 Oct. 3/1 A *fluffy-minded woman. 1935 WODEHOUSE Blandings Castle i. 12 The ninth Earl of Emsworth was a fluffy-minded and amiable old gentleman with a fondness for new toys.  
fluffy, adj.  
* fluffy dice n. a pair of large imitation dice made from fluffy, fur-like material, designed to be hung inside a vehicle's windscreen (esp. from the rear-view mirror) or rear window, and sometimes comsidered emblematic of poor taste; also occas. with sing. concord; cf. furry dice n. at FURRY adj. and n.1, fuzzy dice n. at FUZZY adj.  
1957 Hammond (Indiana) Times 6 Oct. B1/2 A pair of *fluffy dice may be decorative, but hanging from a car windshield they can be dangerous as well. 1994 M. GEE Crime Story (1996) iii. 50 He got in close behind one and saw a fluffy dice suspended in the rear window, and a fisted hand with a smoke in it, burning above kissing heads. 2004 Sunday Times (Nexis) 11 July (Driving section) 11 Fluffy dice dangling from the rear-view mirror are commonly considered the last word in naff.
In Which Sweetness is Sought
Posted by lorddimwit 11 years ago
Remember that horrible local paper I used to work for? Well, they turned up something interesting over the latest holidays:  
Ahhh.... memories.  
(figured it didn't warrant a front page link, but what the hell.)
In Which Beads of Sweat Break Out on the Foreheads of Grown Men
Posted by lorddimwit 12 years ago
So a couple of nights ago I and some of my friends went out to sample Prince's Hot Chicken, which serves, as the name implies, hot chicken.  
Note here that "hot chicken," in this context, is a food that some have claimed is unique to Nashville, though such a claim is extremely difficult to prove owing to the fact that hot chicken is essentially breaded fried chicken, served on top of two slices of white bread (??) and with a toothpick spearing the whole meat / bread mixture as well as a few dill pickle chips on top (???). The difference between this stuff and normal fried chicken is that the breading that goes on hot chicken has been saturated with a truly unholy blend of spices (the recipe is a closely guarded secret, but lots and lots of cayenne is a given) and then fried (in lard) in a cast-iron skillet. The result is a piece of chicken that's a deep, almost hostile red, tending toward near-purple in the hotter varieties (Prince's serves mild, medium, hot, and extra-hot). It looks, in a word, dangerous.  
I myself am a minor connoisseur of spicy chicken, with about half of my family emanating from Buffalo and being extremely fond of that illustrious city's signature wing. So I've had Buffalo wings in virtually all the flavors known to man, from the classic Frank's and butter mix to the messy ketchup-thickened variety to the sticky honey-glazed to the odd but not entirely unpleasant baked wasabi green wing, etc. etc. Thus, I was enthusiastic about sampling this particular variety of fiery poultry.  
My professional opinion: hot chicken is, as its name implies, plenty spicy, but it's a different kind of hotness from what you'll get from your typical Buffalo wing. It's much drier than its smaller northern cousin and has less of a saucy / greasy texture on the outside, but much more juicy and fatty on the inside. By contrast, most wings are messy on the outside, but sometimes dry on the inside. As a result, though the spice generally hit harder than a bite from a hot wing, it faded much more quickly, and liquids (beer) proved to be a much more effective antidote against the flame than they are during a marathon wing session. The heat was of a salty, peppery variety, very dry burn, felt more on the roof of the mouth and the back of the throat than the tongue and the lips. The grease-soaked white bread at the end was the best part.  
The verdict: great stuff. Just as painful, and as addictive, as a well-prepared wing basket, a great experience for the fan of spicy food. I had the hot variety this time and will probably stick with it on my next visit; I might be able to handle the extra-hot, but I have a feeling that it would mean less pleasure and more pain.
The Museum of Regrettable Threads
Posted by lorddimwit 12 years ago
A recent comment by Fluffy left me thinking about the variety of low points that we've seen in the history of LF, those threads you return to weeks after the fact and think: 'what the HELL were we all smoking?'  
Some are funny. Some are sad. Some are just hair-raising. And all, I'm afraid to say, are better left in the past.  
So here they are! Anyone have any other suggestions?  
*We have this pleasant little journal entry in which a (former) user threatens to report the journal poster's actions to the authorities (whatever authorities those might be).  
*The famous Least Called For Linkfilter Contest Ever, which was almost a joke before it even began.  
*This thread is still cited as an example of how not to conduct an argument. Election 2004 warning!  
*In the 'dear God, why?' category, we have just one of many, many pointless threads about secondhand smoke.  
*Second Amendment thread. Everyone gets really worked up and starts waving their pieces around.  
*Things are said, mistakes are made, somebody makes reference to attack hamsters.  
*The abortion issue crashes and burns. Darkstar bites some guy's head off.  
*This might look like a flamewar if I could tell what was actually going on.  
*In this fine thread, some people discuss the game of basketball. Also, some guy tries to kill several people with his high-school diploma and receives several papercuts.  
*A 1-voter owns up in this heartwarming thread. People aren't too pleased.  
*In a thread so bad that clu claims there aren't enough pictures of puppies in the world to save it, some yahoo derides darkstar for his ignorance of the evil ways of the French, little suspecting where his opponent actually lives...  
*Bad threads don't have to be concerned with weighty, contentious matters. The famous Fish vs. Meat vs. Whale vs. Hendrix debacle is perhaps the best example. Yours truly challenges FuzzyDave to a fish-slapping duel and everyone chews on the scenery.  
*In which a certain LF user proves not only that he's unable to write a joke, but also that he doesn't even know what one is.  
*Irony can be delicious, but in this thread it tastes bitter as ashes.  
*When someone says "Everyone who has a chance to walk away from this toxic thread should do it now," you should always take the advice, right? Right?
In Which Certain Myths are Dispelled
Posted by lorddimwit 12 years ago
Background: I teach an entry-level class at a place that people who are obviously more easily impressed than I sometimes call "The Harvard of the South." Mostly freshmen, some sophomores, the odd junior or senior. It's a living.  
I oftentimes complain to my colleagues (or random people on the Internet) about how stupid my students are, but, upon reflection, it might be more appropriate to call them "unforgivably naive." They know something about the world they live in, but have no real conception of how that world works.  
Example: I recently assigned them Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber, which is a collection of fairy tales rewritten from a feminist perspective. Same basic plots, but lots of details and characters changed, etc. etc. Anyway, the reading for the first day was a revision of "Bluebeard," plot almost identical, but narrated rather obliquely from the perspective of the latest unfortunate wife of the baron, lots of new interesting texture. Still, a pretty familiar story. I've learned to take nothing for granted, though, so I gave my students a link to the wikipedia entry on the story. Just to acculturate them, you understand.  
So. I come into class and, as a pretty basic starting gesture, ask them what they thought of the reading. Just a lead-in to a more complex discussion.  
One of my kids raises his hand and says something on the order of "I don't think that the author should have made money off of this story, since she basically just copied the story and didn't add anything and it doesn't do anything that the original story didn't do."  
Hm, well, that's interesting... Any other opinions?  
Another girl says "I think that I could have gotten everything that I got from the story just by reading the wikipedia entry."  
Oh dear. An uphill climb today.  
So I try to convince them that rewriting doesn't necessarily constitute plagiarism, that people have used the basic plots of older stories for years and years and YEARS, and that rethinking an artistic predecessor still constitutes an artistic act in itself. Blank looks from the class.  
Gritting my teeth, I try to move on to both more basic concepts and an example of what I hope will be more familiar territory for them. I reference Cinderella, talking about how the original story (with one of the stepsisters slicing off her heel and both of them getting their eyes pecked out by birds and such) gets completely drained of its violence and nastiness by popular culture, etc. etc. Here's where things get really irritating.  
As I'm recounting the original Cinderella story, I notice that a couple of my students are gazing at me with looks of utter horror, as if I've just told them that the cancer-ridden widow to whom they've just bequeathed their trust funds is actually some dude in a coffeeshop in Nigeria. One girl says: "but that wasn't in the movie!!"  
I'm a little taken aback by this. I say, "well, you KNOW that the Disney version isn't the original; it's just a reworking of an older story." Shocked looks. I become incredulous. I mention other Disney movies that are basically just retooled fairy tales, The Little Mermaid, for instance, or Aladdin, or Robin Hood, etc. etc. I'm still getting those horrified looks. I become desperate, try to tell them about Hans Christian Anderson, the Brothers Grimm, the Arabian Nights, and such. They were utterly stunned. They couldn't believe that the Disney movies that they had watched since they were toddlers weren't the original versions of these stories. One girl said that she refused to listen to me past a certain point.  
Anyway, I felt like I was informing them, at the tender age of nineteen or so, that there was in fact no Santa Claus. I also felt like I needed a drink, but it was ten in the morning.
In Which Lorddimwit Heads Over the Hill
Posted by lorddimwit 12 years ago
My first level in about two years or so. I'm getting there, slowly but steadily.
In Which Lord Dimwit Searches for Airfares
Posted by lorddimwit 13 years ago
Politics and political posts fill me with rage, so this little debacle only warrants a post in my increasingly neglected journal.  
So I've been looking at airfare back to the Frozen North to see the 'rents this Christmas. It's pretty damn steep—close to $700 round-trip, and there's inevitably more than one layover (in Minneapolis or Seattle if you're lucky, in Dallas or (shudder) Newark if you're not). But recent events have made me wonder why on earth I would really want to go back there ever, even to visit.  
Behold the madness. You remember a couple of months back when our beloved representative, Don Young, blew up when confronted with the idea that some of the ginormous sum of money devoted to building bridges in the middle of nowhere in Alaska (around $450 million this year, I think) should be redirected to rebuilding infrastructure damaged by Katrina? Made that remark about how the refugees could "kiss his ear?" Boy, that was fun, wasn't it?  
Well, just recently the spotlight fell on the big potato himself, Ted Stevens, chair of the Appropriations Committee, Senate pro temp, third in line to the presidency (after the VP and the Speaker of the House) and our resident senator-for-life. He controls around $800 billion a year, and a lot of it heads up North for, among other things, bridges in the middle of nowhere. We recently named the airport in Anchorage after him. Anyway.  
So just a couple of days ago a Republican senator from Oklahoma gets up and says, well, gee, we're spending four hundred million and some change on bridges to nowhere this year, how about instead we spend about $125 million of that and rebuild a bridge that goes to somewhere, namely, the I-20 bridge in Louisiana?  
This does not make old Uncle Ted happy. No, not at all.  
So he goes ballistic. Starts shouting at people on the floor of the Senate. Threatens to resign if the bill goes through. And apparently everyone is swayed by the argument. We can't have Uncle Ted resigning! He's so.... old!  
So the bill gets cut down. We're still getting what our other beloved senator, Lisa Murkowski, calls "bridges to the future." Nobody's happy about it. The liberal media isn't happy about it. Even the conservative media isn't happy about it. Why's it happening? Who knows?  
Ah well. Back to searching for tickets. Uncle Ted, I'm comin' home.
In Which Lord Dimwit Undergoes an Epic Battle
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
Ok, just a slice of life here.  
I'm out drinking at a bar with some buddies (hey, man, what else are you going to do on a Thursday night? Just get off my frickin' back) tonight. After we're all done, I decide to do the responsible (and cheap) thing and walk back home, which takes about twenty minutes.  
Along the way, I walk through some kind of dense underbrush, because the area is full of it and because it seemed like a good idea at the time (remember that I've been drinking for a while). I arrive at home a little covered with twigs and maybe a leaf, but otherwise fine.  
So I walk into my bedroom and start emptying my pockets of their sundry contents. Keys, wallet, cell phone, lighter, something strange and kinda stringy...  
There was something strange and stringy in my pocket, about the size of a tater tot, something that I don't remember taking with me... I bring it out of my pocket and look at it closely... it's...  
Augh!! There's a cricket in my pocket! Lord knows what it was doing there, or how long it had been there, or what it had planned to do next! I cradle the writhing creature in my hand for only the split-second it takes to identify it definitively (a cricket is about the last thing you expect to find in your pocket) and register its presence, and then I do the reasonable thing.  
That's right, I scream "CRICKET!!!!!" at the top of my lungs and fling it away as quickly as possible.  
But that's not the end of it. Oh no. Now there's a cricket somewhere in my room, and I'm sure as hell not going to sleep until that insectoid menace is found and eliminated. So I get a poster packing tube (not sure what it's from, probably a poster) and start stalking it.  
The common cricket (Gryllus) is, I'm sure you all realize, a remarkably crafty foe, skilled in both the ways of the ninja and the delicate art of hopping wildly once you discover its hiding place. To make matters worse, my bedroom is covered in approximately 54,741 random items, including old term papers, CDs to which I never intend to listen, empty liquor bottles, dirty (and clean) laundry, books, tinker toys, and the like. So the whole business became a deadly game of cat and mouse among the detritus of my daily life. My foe finally succumbed to my relentless onslaught, however, and was subsequently scooped up and unceremoniously disposed of in Manner Most Unpleasant.  
Crickets, man, I swear they're out to get me.
In Which Lord Dimwit Writes a Bunch of Random Stuff
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
A friend of mine runs, which is some kind of site on video games, I suppose. Anyway, a while back she asked me to write an article for her and I said sure, I'll do something on interactive fiction (related posts by me). So I did, and she actually stuck it up on the interweb for all to see.  
I doubt it'll be of much interest to anyone, and in any case it was written very hastily and has quite a lot of rather poor reasoning all around, but I couldn't resist the chance to self-promote, to "toot my own horn," as it were, to "blow my own slide whistle," what have you.  
In other news, I've just completed my Master's thesis here, so now I'm even more overeducated, and I'll be presenting a revised version of it at a Southern writers conference in Mississippi in late July. Basically, things couldn't be going much better than they are now.  
Shoutout to all my LF homies I haven't holla'd at lately:  
In Which Strange Goings-on go on at the Dimwit Household
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
OK, so something odd enough to be journal-worthy happened to me today. In the comfort of my own home, no less.  
I'm sort of lounging around the living room with a microwaved burrito and a Penguin Classic edition of something or other when my doorbell rings. Now, my ordinary, instinctual reaction to this innocuous event is to ignore it completely; anyone I actually know has the good sense not to ring my fucking doorbell, and anyone I don't know who rings my doorbell is trying to get me to volunteer for and / or buy something that I would never want to do or possess. But for some reason I decided to answer it.  
And on my porch is a gargantuan, extremely well-dressed fellow with a rather unfortunate hat and kind of nervous eyes.  
So I say: "Hello, may I help you?"  
And he says (He has an odd accent, one that I can't quite place. It seems a little East Coast-ish though): "Yes... is there anyone in this house who speaks Russian?"  
Now I should interject here and say that not only is this obviously an extraordinarily strange thing to ask random people, but also that I do actually speak Russian, though not in casual conversation. I should also add that I then noticed that there was a large, kind of oldish towncar idling across the street, clearly with a driver inside.  
In any case, I was a little wary of this situation, and I enjoy lying to strangers, so I say, "no, nobody here speaks Russian."  
The guy gives me a kind of suspicious look. I notice that he's kind of peering around my body into the living room.  
He says: "Ukrainian?"  
I say: "Umm... no."  
He looks behind me again, and I realize that he's staring at an old Russian propaganda poster that I have hanging in the living room.  
He says: "That looks like it's written in Russian."  
I shrug and say: "It's just a poster."  
He frowns a little and says: "All right, have a nice evening" (It's about quarter past noon right now). He then walks across the street and gets into the towncar.  
So many questions. How did this guy find me? Is he a spy, a mafioso, or just some random quaestor? Had he broken into my house before and noticed my poster? Does he actually know who I am? Will he be back?  
Weird, weird, weird.
In Which the USPS Drops the Ball, or Rather the Box
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
You know how you order something from Amazon, it ships media mail, and you get a package a week or so later that seems to be fortified against enemy attack to an absurd degree? A package that makes you wish they had given you a little plastic crowbar or something to pry it open? Well, those boxes aren't just for show.  
I went home to the Frozen North for Christmas and retrieved a bunch of my books from my old house; they were just sort of lying around. Nothing exceedingly important or valuable, just books that I'd like to have and might need someday. I loaded them all into three cardboard boxes, just single-ply cardboard, the kind of boxes you use to transport... well, books, maybe clothes, maybe miscellaneous silverware and such during a move. Each one weighed about twenty-five or thirty pounds. I wrapped them all in packing tape, sealed them up using that over-under flap trick that you do with boxes, and mailed them off on their way. Bye-bye, little boxes! Grandpa loves you!  
Several weeks later (yeah, media mail is slow), I receive *two* of the boxes in Nashville, a little bruised and round around the edges as boxes are wont to be after traveling four thousand miles, but otherwise all right.  
The final box steadfastly refuses to appear. Time passes, seasons change, turn turn turn, whatever.  
Finally, today, the box arrives. Or rather, *a* box arrives. It looks vaguely like the box I sent; it's got my handwriting on it, but now it's completely covered in tape, has been adorned with various stains, and has several of those yellow plastic reinforcement bands on it, which I don't remember employing. It's also much, much lighter.  
I open up this sad specimen of box-dom to discover the following:  
*Approximately a third of the books I placed in it, looking much the worse for wear  
*Several books that are most certainly not mine, and in fact have other people's names on them  
*A little slip saying something about an empty package being delivered to my address. This slip exhorts me to kindly write down a description of everything that was in the package upon date of shipping and send it to someplace called "Loose in the Mail" in Seattle.  
So apparently the box fell apart in shipping, and if I can recall the titles and descriptions of all of the forty or so books in the box and inform the USPS of them, they'll root through some huge bin of loose shit and send me some stuff that might match said descriptions.  
Now, this box must have gone through some serious abuse to arrive in the state it did. It would have to have been attacked by some angry people armed with baseball bats or dropped at least ten feet or so. Good job, guys. Fortunately, since I live in a bizarro fantasy world where people meticulously record every single detail of their lives, no matter how minute, I have a long list titled "BOOKS SHIPPED 12/29," with entries such as "ONE COPY PLATO'S REPUBLIC, BROWN, 1965 CAMPBELL TRANSLATION." Riiiight.  
Of course, since I didn't have insurance (who gets insurance?), the post office isn't really obligated to do anything but shrug and say "meh." And they probably won't even do that.  
On the bright side, I am now in possession of the following windfalls:  
1. A copy of "Wee Sing Sing-Alongs" by Pamela Conn Beall and Susan Hagen Nipp, containing such classics as "Rocka My Soul," "Oh, Shenandoah," and "Little Tom Tinker." No jacket. Front page is inscribed "Koen," which is not my name.  
2. A copy of "English Victorian Poetry: An Anthology," edited by Paul Negri. Dover Thrift Edition. Title page also reads "Koen," and has a phone number.  
3. A children's book titled "Ten Apples Up On Top!". The cover has a picture of The Cat in the Hat and proclaims "I Can Read it All By Myself!" It boasts a "75 Word Vocabulary" and tells the gripping tale of several anthropomorphic creatures who are very concerned about their supply of fresh fruit.  
4. A cassette tape, no case, reading "Chants from Valaan: Hymns of the All-Night Vigil." Gave it a listen. What the fuck.  
5. A copy of "Songs & Ballads of Ireland: A First Collection of 40 Irish Songs With Complete Words, Music, and Guitar Chords." This also apparently once belonged to the elusive Koen, who seemed quite enamored of "Spancil Hill."  
6. A copy of "Claire's Corner Copia Cookbook: 225 Homestyle Vegetarian Recipes from Claire's Family to Yours," by Claire Criscuolo. The Lithuanian Coffee Cake is apparently "incredibly delicious." Bears a Christmas gift tag reading "TO REBECCA FROM NED." Rebecca, or perhaps Ned, has pencilled in a recipe for Creamy Spinach on the last page, which should be served with poached salmon, feeds 3-4, and ends with the inscription "Fortant de France, Viognier 1994." Or so I surmise; Rebecca's handwriting is a little sloppy these days.  
In Which Lord Dimwit Posts a Bunch of Pictures
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
I just realized that I have all of these pics from the Frozen North still lurking around in my photobucket account, and I should probably share them with someone or other. So I'm following fb-'s lead and putting them in my journal.  
All of these come from close (about a 30-mile radius) to where I live. Er, lived. I posted them in the chatter several months ago for the enjoyment of FuzzyDave, darkstar, and some other random hobos. Now you all have access to them.  
These all come from my ill-fated year of working at the local paper, so they're probably copyrighted and it's massively illegal for me to distribute them, and possibly also illegal for me to possess them myself. In fact, it's probably illegal for me to even be typing this right now. Meh.  
Have a great new year, y'hear?  
Arctic terns  
Rainbow Lake  
Crow Pass  
Alaska Railroad  
Pioneer Peak in fall  
Pioneer Peak & Bodenburg Butte  
Frigid winter stuff  
Lake Lucille sunset
In Which Queso Proves to be an Inroads to Heaven
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
I hereby command everyone who reads this to do the following:  
Go to the supermarket. Pick up a can of this stuff:  
Specifically the "Extra Hot" kind on the right in the middle. If you can't handle the heat, I guess you could try a different kind. Wuss.  
Drain out the juice and toss the contents in some Tupperware.  
Add a bunch of Velveeta or other similar fake cheese glop.  
Put it in the microwave for a while.  
Prepare your written statement for St. Peter while it cooks.  
Take it out.  
The results are truly amazing. A friend of mine from Arkansas gave me the recipe, if it can even be called a recipe. Say what you want about the South ruining the election and such; whatever their political persuasion, they know how to treat food right.
In Which Lord Dimwit Fights a Brief Battle With Facial Hair
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
I come from a very hairy family. Half of them are grizzled German potato farmers, gigantic beastly people who can't communicate, even at a distance of only a few feet, without positively bellowing at each other. I provide this as simple background information.  
So for most of my late adolescent, teen, and adult life, I've fought a neverending struggle against stubble. Shaving every day, sometimes twice a day, enduring both painful lacerations and occasional humiliation and itchiness when I forgot my morning ritual, it was a tough life.  
This week, though, I've decided to let the old cookie duster grow and see what resulted. I think there might also have been some sort of drunken boast involved; I'm not sure. Everything's a little hazy.  
I finally looked in the mirror this morning, and... ick. Scraggle everywhere. I couldn't stop myself from itching the beard, either. It was prickly and poky and just generally irritating. I looked kind of homeless. Come to think of it, I didn't get hit up for change nearly as often, and the local hobos tended to look at me with a gleam of brotherhood in their eyes. This clearly had to change. I headed down to Walgreen's and bought myself one of those triple-bladed monstrosities. It was clearly zero hour for the beard.  
Five cautious and slightly painful minutes later most of the soup strainer was gone. I left the area around my lips and chin, though. I think it looks kind of nice, and doesn't have the nasty itchy cheek and neck stubble that the full beard involved.  
A model of something similar, provided by some guy I've never seen before:  
See the warm, fatherly goodness? You just want this guy to help you fix your car and build a tire swing, don't you?  
On the other hand, we have this variety, which looks considerably more evil:  
I'm not sure which image I'm shooting for right now.  
Anyone else have facial hair stories they'd like to share? Or other hair stories?  
Er, um, on second thought, let's just limit it to the former category.
In Which Lord Dimwit Vaguely Considers Marching on the Capital
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
A “capitol” is always a building. Cities and all other uses are spelled with an A in the last syllable. Would it help to remember that Congress with an O meets in the Capitol with another O?  
I'm in a very liberal department here, which is kind of a rarity in Southern schools, and a lot of my fellow grad students are really of the politicky type. After last night's fooferaw, they got all hot and bothered, and now they want to drive to Washington DC in January and raise a ruckus at the inauguration.  
I'm not sure if they'll make good on their threat, since the day after something happens you're apt to be much angrier (sadder, more confused, whatever) than you will be two months from when it happens, but if they do go, I think I might go with them. Politics aren't my bag, and elbowing dirty hippies to gain a patch of frozen mud in which to stand and direct my rage and/or approval at the top of my lungs toward some vaguely Bush-shaped speck off in the distance during the inauguration is even less my bag, but it's been a while since my last road trip, and I'd like to see DC again. Last time I was there, I mostly just chased ducks and hung out in the Smithsonian next to one of those big woolly mammoth statues they have there.  
Interesting stuff!
In Which Business as Usual is Conducted
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
So everyone seems intensely interested in what I seem to be doing with myself. I tried to silence them with a cleverly crafted platitude, to wit, that I would post a full update in my journal once I got the chance, but this seemingly perfect scheme had an unforeseen downside. That is, I would eventually have to do it.  
I'm a full-time student now, and I don't have time for silly things like laundry, linkfilter, or a love life. I also don't have time for things that don't begin with l. But that's another story.  
I still visit the site occasionally, read journals and the occasional link, hang out in chatter, but I haven't posted anything of note recently. The new comment scan scares me. And I know that, as election time draws nearer and nearer and politics, which I was never really interested in to begin with, becomes more and more of a concern among the madding crowds, I'll have less motivation to come here.  
You won't really see more of me here until Christmastime maybe, if I decide to visit the 'rents back in the Frozen North, where nothing ever happens and the glacial progress of the decades-old modem hooked up to whatever pile of begotten circuitry they call a computer at their house is the only thing keeping me sane.  
With that, here's what's going on in my life, in brief.  
Benson Science Hall, where I lurk for much of the day, thumbing through antiquated literary flotsam, stupefying literary theory, and achingly clever journal pieces in the company of a collection of professors, graduate students, water fountains, and the occasional wandering baseball-cap-wearing lumbering frat dude or heavily-perfumed, miniskirt-clad chiclet. I have a few classes that keep me busy, but a good portion of my work is done just, well, because I like doing it.  
The university's currently paying me (rather handsomely--I mentioned earlier that I'm earning more as a grad student than I was as a reporter back in the Frozen North, and being a reporter doesn't allow me to sleep until 11) to study, I think; I don't teach any classes until my second year, and conferences, exams, job interviews, and the like are sufficiently distant to allow me to just read and read right now.  
Time that isn't spent doing this is spent bumming around Nashville with other grad students, usually drinking heavily and destroying property. Lots of music, too. In short, it's a blast.  
I guess the biggest real adjustment I've had to make is orienting myself to the fact that I'm not clearly the smartest one in my classes anymore. The other grad students (about a dozen, all told) in my year were all at the head of their graduating classes as well, and it's kind of a surprise (a pleasant surprise, but all the same) to get used to the fact that everyone's on basically the same level.  
Anyway, I should probably get to sleep. Shout out to my LF homies (oh wait, I guess Fluffy's gone now, so I really don't have any). I'll bash some sap on the back of the head during my next bar fight for y'all.
In Which Lord Dimwit Serves Out His Term
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
OK, folks, this is it. Tomorrow's my last day at work, and I'll probably spend most of it unpacking my desk, jibing with the other newsroom jerks, and later on getting smashed at the brew pub with those same jerks.  
Going (back) off to school means, of course, an extremely drastic lifestyle change for me. It also means that, since I'm no longer sitting at a desk bored out of my skull eight hours a day and trapped at home bored out of my skull in the evenings on a regular basis, I'll be on the 'filter less. Perhaps much much less. I don't plan on quitting just yet though.  
See, the 'filter has always been for me a good way to waste time and maintain my sanity, what with people phoning me up all the time wanting to talk about rezoning decisions and utility line easements and public hearings and dance recitals and.... (this is the downward spiral). That was why I originally started it up, to kill time.  
But over the last eight months or so, I've realized that there are actually some cool people around here that I've enjoyed spending time with. So, in honor of my upcoming 'filter dropoff, here are 17 pleasant memories that I've had here over the past months.  
1. Feeding the trolls.  
2. Searching for lost pigs with shiggy.  
3. Legal trash talk with darkstar.  
4. Carrying on entire conversations with the crickets.  
5. Clu's insane comment extravaganza.  
6. This poll.  
7. Late-night zombie insomnia jam sessions with sterlingbeauty  
8. Fluffy's crusty farmer shtick.  
9. Sage words of journalistic wisdom dispensed by FuzzyDave  
10. The great scavenger hunt fiasco.  
11. SMITH!!!!!  
12. The Affiliated Industries versus Frobozz Electric tradewar.  
13. The horrible (and still ongoing) Fish/Meat debate.  
14. Drinking in the chatter with madtbone  
15. Ufx's ill-fated laser-wielding legions of doom.  
16. jones's turkey sandwiches.  
17. All the wallpapers.  
Thanks, everyone, and good night!
In Which Lord Dimwit Posts An Entire Poem Without Any Explanation Offered Whatsoever
Posted by lorddimwit 14 years ago
Winding Up  
Derek Walcott  
I live on the water,  
alone. Without wife and children.  
I have circled every possibility  
to come to this:  
a low house by grey water,  
with windows always open  
to the stale sea. We do not choose such things,  
but we are what we have made.  
We suffer, the years pass,  
we shed freight but not our need  
for encumbrances. Love is a stone  
that settled on the seabed  
under grey water. Now, I require nothing  
from poetry but true feeling,  
no pity, no fame, no healing. Silent wife,  
we can sit watching grey water,  
and in a life awash  
with mediocrity and trash  
live rock-like.  
I shall unlearn feeling,  
unlearn my gift. That is greater  
and harder than what passes there for life.
In Which Lord Dimwit Taps His Pen Angrily on the Desk
Posted by lorddimwit 15 years ago
I still don't have quite enough fingers to count the days I'm going to be working at this job, but after today, they should fit in the ten allotted slots. August 6 is the kill date, and I'll leave the state maybe a week after that.  
I figured I'd share a partial list of things I've learned as a small-town Alaskan newspaper reporter. This is by no means a full list, but it gets close to the heart of the matter.  
I will provide a few illustrative pictures for those of you who hate reading.
*If you toss a glass of beer in the face of a local hero at a charity banquet, you get fired.  
*Old people didn't get to where they are today through lack of persistence, and if you express the slightest modicum of interest in what they're doing, you'll never hear the end of it.  
*Drinking four cups of black coffee in rapid succession will fuck you up good, but it can also serve as a substitute for lunch.  
*If you approach anyone with a camera slung over your shoulder and a pad in your hands, they're instantly very wary of you.  
*Unless you ask not to be quoted / comment off the record BEFORE the press starts asking you questions, there's not a damn thing you can do to prevent them from printing every word you say.  
*Anyone who's been involved in agriculture for more than 25 years can't speak at a rate faster than one word per second.  
*No matter what you write about anything in the world, someone somewhere will get angry about it.  
*Any individual who calls you repeatedly asking for press attention is probably bad news.  
*Small-town politics completely and unequivocably suck ass.  
*Those people who write community interest stories really don't give a shit about the charming, heartwarming issues that those stories focus on.  
*The editor doesn't really care about what you say in a letter to the editor.  
*People are far less concerned about the potential import of what you're saying in your article than they are about whether you spelled their last name correctly.  
*There's absolutely, positively nothing interesting about planning and zoning.  
*Anybody who uses their one phone call from the slammer to call up the press is not worth talking to.  
This list is for FuzzyDave.
In Which Lord Dimwit Hastily Conceals a Baggie of White Powder
Posted by lorddimwit 15 years ago
Well, yesterday I finally broke the elusive level 22 barrier. That's right, I'm finally a crackhead.  
The crackhead level is really what separates the men from the boys, the girls from the women, the lobsters from the tiny wannabe invertebrates paddling around in a drop of pond water. In addition, crackhead status seems to assure that you're never, ever going to leave linkfilter, that you're stuck here for good and that there's nothing you can do to escape.  
I'm on the site pretty much every day, unless I'm out of town or the Internet is on the fritz. Once I head off to grad school, this will probably change, but still.... how is escape possible?  
I didn't get a level-up picture, which irritated me to no end, but this one is probably as good as any.
In Which a Toast is Proposed to Something or Other
Posted by lorddimwit 15 years ago
What is the use of talking, and there is no end  
    of talking,  
There is no end of things in the heart.  
So I'm finally back from my trip to PDX / Vegas. Saw a lot of friends, had some good times, some bad times, some high times, etc. etc.  
The Portland part was largely concerned with hanging out with friends and drinking lots of expensive coffee. Those were some good times. Old college friends are among the best kind of friends.  
Turned my feet to hamburger walking up and down the Vegas Strip; decided that I own the worst pair of sandals in the world. Lost some money at the tables, too, but had a blast playing the old-skool arcade games at Coney Island while incredibly drunk and smoking smuggled Cuban cigars in the lobby of the Bellagio.  
The wedding was very, very bizarre. It turned out that I was the best man after all, and so got to sign the certificate, caretake the rings, give a toast at the reception, etc.  
Apparently I look really good in tights, considering the amount of compliments I got from people who also referred to me as "goodsir." This is probably a good thing, because I felt like an absolute idiot. Black tights, long green tunic with those fluted edges that I guess were in style five hundred years ago, absurd soft shoes with stupid little points at the end. Fortunately, some people there looked even more ridiculous. The groom's uncle was dressed like a jester, his father was dressed like a wizard, and the father of the bride was Henry VIII, complete with a preposterous feather in his hat.  
The wedding lasted only about half an hour, mercifully, and the reception was also pretty short. It was kind of a low-budget performance; the groom's ring was supposedly purchased for $5 on ebay.  
Despite the fact that I'm an insensitive bastard about most matters of personal and even widespread incidents, I'm something of a sucker for big events in the lives of those close to me. I didn't cry at the wedding, but I did at the reception, surrounded by friends that have been so good to me without ever asking anything in return, friends that I hadn't seen for months and wouldn't see again for years, doubtless under vastly different circumstances in completely different locales.  
It really felt like the end of something, something that I have a feeling I'll forget in the shuffle of coming years. But in another sense, in the sense of the poem I quoted both above and in the toast I gave at the reception, things always move in spirals. It was this that troubled me.  
When I finally got back to Alaska it was 2 AM on Monday, still light out despite a creamy sort of haze from forest fires and low clouds combined. Since I had left, the clover, cottonwood, and Queen Anne's Lace had bloomed and spread their own bridal veil over the fields and roadsides. It seemed fitting.
In Which a Hiking Trip Goes Horribly Awry
Posted by lorddimwit 15 years ago
OK, so some nasty bad things happened to me over the past couple of days. I blame... the sea.  
My ugly brother is in town visiting from Boston, and it's my civic duty, of course, to show him around, to lead him on a grand tour of the assorted Alaskan wonders that surround the place where we both grew up.  
Monday's excursion was a hiking trip up into Hatcher Pass in the Talkeetna Mountains, which is a popular area for alpine recreation of all kinds. It's just a short drive from my house. The mountains are only about 7 or 8 thousand feet at the most, but the entire area is about the size of Connecticut.  
So we get to the trip site by driving about ten miles on what is undoubtedly one of the worst roads within a considerable radius. Huge, 1-foot deep potholes the whole way, gigantic puddles, all sorts of stuff. Needless to say, driving it feels like getting stuck in one of those rock tumblers for an hour. And it takes about an hour to go those ten miles.  
It was around 8:00 at night when we got there (of course the sun is still up, you idiots, it'll be up until at least 11:30 at night, when twilight will set in), and we had to go about three and a half miles. So we climb up about a thousand feet of boulders and other rocks, having to jump because of the gaps, occasionally having to scramble over the sharp places.  
Finally we reach this sort of swampy meadow with a stream running through it. The stream is maybe three feet deep and seven feet across. There are still lots of patches of snow and mud; the place is still melting.  
So we figure out that we need to jump the stream to get to where we're going. My brother goes first, and I sort of stand there contemplating my options. I could walk for about half a mile around the stream to an easier crossing point, but I figured, hey, my brother did it, how tough could it be?  
Running start.  
What I neglected to take into consideration was that my brother was always the quicker runner and the better jumper, that I was better at tasks that required more strength, that he's about twenty pounds lighter, and that I was carrying all the gear.  
The practical upshot of this little incident was that my legs landed in the stream, my torso landed on the opposite bank, and I experienced the wonderful sensation of no only plunging into a stream full of snowmelt, but having my right humerus forcibly wrenched from its socket.  
Now I'm no stranger to things that hurt, having done a truly colossal amount of stupid things to myself over the years. And this hurt quite a bit. It also looked horrifying. But that wasn't the bad part. Since neither of us knew how to treat it, we had to walk those three and a half miles back, over those jagged rocks and boulders, with me soaking wet. Every single jolt (and there were a lot of them) on the trail sent excruciating pain through my shoulder. This seemed to take forever.  
Then we got back to the truck. Remember that ten-mile long pothole-ridden road? The one that takes an hour to drive? Well, that hour we spent driving in felt like I-5 compared to the awful trip out. I don't even know how to describe it. It was horrible. I held a plastic bag full of snow on my shoulder to keep the swelling down, but it didn't help much.  
We finally made it to the hospital, which was about thirty miles away, and I was almost delirious from the pain and the shock, still wet, and the single nurse on duty at the desk said I would need to fill out some paperwork before I was treated. Now, this almost made me snap completely, seeing as I not only lacked any capacity whatsoever to complete said paperwork, what with my right arm being in a shambles and all, but I also had no health insurance, so my brother handled that while I went to the emergency room.  
It took another half-hour or so to get a doctor out there, and he frowned disapprovingly at my shoulder and said that it was dislocated, that usually they would sedate and anaesthetize me, then pop it back into place, but that would take about an hour longer and cost me several hundred dollars more.  
So what they did was tie a sheet to my chest and to the waist of some burly nurse standing to my left, then tie a second sheet to my right arm and the waist of the doctor, then have the doctor and the nurse basically pull me in opposite directions. Did I mention there was no anaesthesia?  
And that hurt a little too.  
So I went home with an aching but on the mend shoulder and half a bottle of painkillers, and that's where we stand now. I took Tuesday off of work, and now I've got to pick up the slack. Fortunately, I've healed up to the point where I can type, otherwise this would have been really ugly.  
And that's the whole sad story.
In Which Lord Dimwit Praises the Virtues of Cornpone
Posted by lorddimwit 15 years ago
This is the fulfillment of that wretched wretched agreement with cornpone after he won my freaking scavenger hunt. Choke on it, pone.  
I come before you today to sing the praises of an unsung hero, to place a crown of laurels upon a head that has never worn such noble gear:  
That individual, of course, is the radiant cornpone. His humble moniker draws its unique charm from the vernacular aspect of the Southern oral tradition that he still employs liberally whenever given the chance. How many of us, entrenched deep in the funk of an endless Wednesday afternoon, have been roused back to cogency by cornpone's inimitable cry of "HORSESHIT?" Who among us can match the agreeability, both in sight and taste, of the angular wedge of bread that forms my illustrious subject's avatar? And how many among us can claim to have a verb (pone, to pone, to be poned) that bears our name?  
Truly, cornpone is more than just a valued member of our community. He is no less than a linkfilter legend, one who must be recognized as not only a contributing member, but the very reason that we have contributing members. But for the presence of cornpone, why would we be here at all, I ask you?  
And handsome! What woman could resist, and one man could not feel a pang of jealousy, upon viewing that strong, chiseled jaw, that powerful brow, those perfect teeth? And his scanty attire, just revealing enough to leave something to the imagination, hints at more.  
And, who but cornpone, with his audacity, his tenacity, his stubborn devil-may-care flouting of the ridiculous rules and shibboleths that we grapple with daily, would have the courage, the good old-fashioned gumption to place an animated GIF in his words of wisdom?  
Meditate on these fasteners. Their crenellated surfaces mimic the many facets of cornpone's wisdom. Their forthright, powerful purposes mirror the power of his conviction.  
It is my belief that, long after the bones of our descendants have crumbled to dust in unmarked graves, the name of cornpone shall live on in the hearts and minds of peace-loving people everywhere. It will be seen in the eyes of every child and heard on the whistle of every train descending into the damp gloom of an Atlanta evening.  
In Which all the Magic goes out of the Relationship
Posted by lorddimwit 15 years ago
OK, so I haven't done the points in a while. Here are the current totals:  
madtbone: 16.1 billion bonus points, a set of mudflaps with naked ladies on them, the gas pedal from a 1979 Camaro, and a bottle of absolutely foul liquor.  
jones: 12.1 billion bonus points and a deep-fried Twinkie.    
cornpone: 9.421 billion bonus points and some rather deceptive Buffalo wings.        
SuperNintendoChalmer: 7.5 billion bonus points   
shigpit: 5 billion bonus points and a Java version of that irritating Pass the Pigs game.  
affiliate19: 4.3 billion bonus points, a pair of track cleats, and a cabin in the Great Smokies.  
Fluffy: 3.3 billion bonus points and a collection of Virtual Beetles.    
sterlingbeauty: 783 million bonus points and a lost pink hat.      
misycarrot: 100 million bonus points and something stuck in the 80s.  
owl:60 million bonus points.       
bear:20 million bonus points  
darkstar: 1.12 million bonus points and some crappy paradoxes.  
ultrafastx:1 million bonus points.  
vidkid: 87,631 bonus points.  
clu: 70,942 bonus points  
beaglebot: 1456 bonus points and a bunch of pet toys including but not limited to the Snacky Rabbit Treat Ball.       
bbbach: -800 million bonus points and a pack of idiots.   
soulorcell: -1.9 billion bonus points and an Ode to Olives.    
Now, the reason that I haven't been doing them is because they've become a pretty odious chore. That, and I lost the ticker under a pile of dirty laundry and used condoms.  
Therefore, I'm bringing the whole points earning to a close with the first (and most likely last) ever Linkfilter Scavenger Hunt. That's right! It's a points blowout! Everything must go!  
The following points will be awarded for finding the following things:  
A picture of an LF member wearing a ridiculous hat: 15 billion points  
The title of the poem that begins "After hard rain the eaves repeat their beads": 23 billion points  
A picture of a horrifying spider:10 million points  
A priest standing on top of a mountain:1 billion points  
T.S. Eliot's favorite food:14.5 billion points  
A speech or essay that quotes a video game:3 billion points  
A definition of ontological phenomenology:2.5 billion points  
Some memorabilia from American Gladiators: 200 million points  
A pair of shoes owned by a celebrity: 150 million points  
A picture of a deflated sports ball: 220 million points  
An animated GIF involving a monkey: 110 million points  
A novelty dartboard: 20 million points  
A bottle of rotgut whiskey: 2 million points  
A movie poster from a bad horror movie:6 million points  
A picture of any politician wearing sweatpants: 25 million points  
The biggest banana in the world: 18 million points  
A bottle of molasses: 1 million points  
A shanty for sale:3 million points  
A recipe for something spicy involving plantains:1 million points  
NEW items!!!  
A piece of dirty Styrofoam: 100 million points  
The names of at least three plants mentioned in poems by John Clare: 26 billion points  
A recipe involving whale blubber:4 billion points  
Pictures of Ezra Pound's favorite Italian temple:12 billion points  
A picture of ball lightning: 5 billion points  
The most poisonous creature known to man: 800 million points  
Something that's cooled with liquid sodium: 6 billion points  
A dinosaur with feathers: 1 billion points  
A picture of Iggy Pop hugging or kissing someone: 8 billion points  
Whoever finds these first and posts them will get the listed amount of points. However, if someone finds another, BETTER version of them afterward, this person will get TWICE the listed amount of points. This will continue until the finds obviously could not possibly be any better. Competition will continue until everyone gets bored.  
In addition, the following PRIZES will be awarded for whomever comes in at the following places:  
1st place: An essay of no less than 400 words, written by me, proclaiming your greatness.  
2nd place: Complete immunity from dimwit-hurled insults extending indefinitely into the future.  
3rd place: A date with the LF user of your choice  
Consolation prizes:  
4th place: A pat on the head from me  
5th place: A copy of one of the wacko e-mails that I get from illiterate Alaskan bastards  
6th place: A picture of a duck  
All other competitors will receive NOTHING!!
In Which Lord Dimwit Interviews Darkstar
Posted by lorddimwit 15 years ago
The transcript of my interview with darkstar, complete with appropriate comments.  
darkstar> C'mon, dim. Interview me.  
lorddimwit> "how does it feel to be 100?"  
darkstar> You're cute. C'mere and I'll show you how it feels...  
lorddimwit> "how will your new franchise benefit the Valley Tri-City area?"  
darkstar> I believe we offer an unnparalleled selection, which benefits the residents clearly. But more than this, we provide a stable retail anchor to a key part of the downtown market, and a solid tax-generating base for the economy. I think the public has every right to be proud of what we're doing here.  
darkstar> But I digress. What are you wearing?  
lorddimwit> hmmm.... "how much will your new street improvement cost the taxpayers in our area?"  
darkstar> The new street improvement will be amortized over 10 years, meaning the projected tax revenue will more than compensate for the cost to the taxpayers in the short term, and the long term benefits are substantial.  
FuzzyDave> Darkstar, you are creeping me the hell out.  
darkstar> We see no need for a special bond issue, which I believe should please the local citizenry.  
darkstar> What color is your hair?  
lorddimwit> interesting... "what are the Hospital Board's goals for the coming quarter?"  
darkstar> The Board's goals over the next quarter are threefold: first, to increase response times for emergency services, second, to standardize recertifications for all professional healthcare providers, and third, to resolve the outstanding questions of quaality-of-care currently being debated in the public foorum. This last issue is of particular importance to us. By the way, do you work out?  
lorddimwit> ok, final question. "as head of the Palmer Police Department, what would you say that your officers' contingency plan for flesh-eating ogres is?"  
bbbach> dimwit that would be a great interview question  
darkstar> The contingency plan for flesh-eating ogres currently has four elements: identification, containment, destruction and clean-up. Identification relies on state-of-the art equipment andtraining to identify ogres in question as they begin their rampaging. This is why our recent requests for additional funding have taken on such urgency. Containment is to be managed by traditional riot-control methods, with the addition of shotgun-wielding post-apocalyptic vigilantes being on call as needed. Destruction and clean-up will take the form of flame-throwing and acid-dissolution, which is why we have begun construction of a special haz-mat facility on the edge of town (certified by OSHA, of course). I think citizens will be pleased to see the response program we've put together come the next flesh-eating ogre invasion.  
lorddimwit> ok, I think we're done here.  
darkstar> My pleasure. What time can I pick you up?  
lorddimwit> sorry, I don't date business associates.